


We've Seen It Already

by winter_machine



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M, Humor, I really think this could have happened, M/M, Maddek - Freeform, Multi, OT3, Post-episode do-over, Shameless, Should have happened, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-23 09:28:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13784607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_machine/pseuds/winter_machine
Summary: "Why am I the only girl, by the way? What am I, the entertainment? I'm not stripping." "That's okay, we've seen it already." An alternate ending to Burke's bachelor party at the end of Season 3. Mark, Addison, and Derek are the last ones left at the party, which gives them the perfect opportunity to work out their differences the way they really should have on the show.  OT3way.





	We've Seen It Already

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flipflop_diva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipflop_diva/gifts).



> I wrote this to combat all the angst that usually fills my self-indulgent hard drive. Previously posted on ff.net, but from my brief exploration of this site it seems suited. Light-hearted, somewhat tongue-in-cheek (among other places), picking up from Burke's halfhearted bachelor party at the end of Season 3. Told in short bursts, the way you remember things when you drank half of Joe's beforehand. I own nothing related to Grey's, including the dialogue (and flirty interchange) that inspired this piece. Dedicated to my favorite Maddek threesome queen ...

 

**We've Seen It Already**

**Addison** _: This is what you invited me to? This is your big bachelor party?_  
**Derek** _: It was last minute, I needed some more bodies._  
**Mark** _: Which would explain why I'm here._  
**Addison** _: Why am I the only girl, by the way? What am I, the entertainment? I am not stripping._  
**Derek** _: [referring to himself and Mark] **That's okay, we've seen it already**._  
**Mark** _: True._

* * *

"Why are we the only ones left?" Addison gazes at a room filled with empty chairs, empty tables, empty glasses, and Joe the bartender looking like he's seen better days.

"Because this party sucked," Mark says, setting his empty glass on the bar.

"Because you two like to overstay your welcome," Derek corrects.

"Hey, you can leave any time," Mark offers.

"I'm the host," Derek snaps.

"I wouldn't admit that if I were you." Mark grins and Addison laughs.

"Now you're on his side again?" Derek turns to Addison.

"Mark and I are friends," Addison announces. " _Not_ with benefits," she adds darkly.

Mark shrugs. "Your benefits are pretty … spontaneous anyway. No need to contract them away yet."

"That is offensive." She pauses for a minute. "Did I pronounce that right? Of-fen-sive." She takes another sip of her drink. "It's kind of a hard word to say, you know?"

"She's drunk," Derek tells Mark.

"So are you," Mark tells Derek.

Addison orders another round.

**. . .**

"Fine, so you two are friends," Derek announces, draining his glass. "That doesn't mean I have to be friends with either of you."

"But you are," Addison sighs. "You  _are_ our friend."

"No, I'm not."

"And yet," Mark looks around, "we're the only people you invited to this … party."

"I needed warm bodies," Derek shrugs.

"Don't get ahead of yourself." Addison points a finger at Derek with mock-ferocity. "We're just  _drinking_ right now."

**. . .**

"This is a terrible party," Addison says, tipping her glass upside down so that beads of gin run out of the near-empty cylinder onto her face.

"Burke liked it," Derek insists, while Mark swipes gin off Addison's cheeks and, grinning, licks his fingers clean. She makes a face at him.

"No, Burke is  _polite_ ," she explains to Derek. "Polite and liking are two very different things."

Mark nods.

"Like polite would be if I said I liked your trailer and  _liking_ would be if I liked living in a sardine can that smells like garbage day in July. On  _Lex._ "

Mark shudders.

"My trailer doesn't smell," Derek mutters, then pauses. "I can't believe I just said that. I can't believe  _you_ just said that. Are you in kindergarten?"

"He was exactly like this in kindergarten," Mark assures Addison. "I knew him. Smaller, bigger hair, but otherwise pretty much the same."

A fond look crosses Addison's face, and Mark wrinkles his nose.

"That's not supposed to make you all … sentimental and girly, Addison."

"I can't help it." She shoves her hair out of her eyes; it keeps slipping down. "Derek was a cute kid, I've seen pictures."

"Eh, he only showed you the good ones."

"I  _am_ still right here, you know," Derek says.

"Oh, we know," Mark mutters.

**. . .**

"Sooooo…." Joe draws out the syllable.

"I know, I know," Addison holds up a hand. "We don't have to go home but we can't stay here."

"Got it in one, doc." Joe smiles at her. "You three going to be okay?'

"I don't know," Addison says seriously. "I don't have a hotel. I have a home. I mean, I don't have a  _home_ , I have a hotel. I mean, I have two homes, but I don't live in them. But I own them. Derek gave them both to me because he felt guilty."

"He's not a priest, Addison, you can keep some things to yourself," Derek suggests.

"I don't feel guilty," Addison announces to no one in particular. "'Cause we all three are friends now."

"No, we're not," Derek retorts.

"Yes, we are," Mark insists.

Joe is holding the phone in his hands. "Three cabs," he suggests. "Where would you like to go?"

"The Archfield," Addison says, stumbling a little over the complicated consonants.

"Same," Mark adds.

"So two cabs, then? Where's the other going?"

Mark glances at Derek. "Do you have an address, or is it more like '15 Midlife Crisis Street'?"

"That's not funny."

"I thought it was funny," Addison reassures Mark, patting his arm and almost sliding off the barstool.

Derek glares at both of them, but doesn't cough up an address.

"Maybe he doesn't know it either," Addison muses. "He likes to give these … woodsman Paul Bunyan directions, like 'turn left at the ancient oak with the deer carcass' or whatever."

"'Turn right at the rusty pickup truck."

"'Turn left at the identity crisis."

"'Turn right at the obvious phallic silver –"

"Just get one cab," Derek snaps, "and I'll drop the two of you off first."

**. . .**

"Ooh, the lights are pretty," Addison says dreamily, leaning against Mark because the cab is going incredibly fast. "I wish the driver would slow down," she mumbles.

"We're at a red light, Addison."

"I knew that."

**. . .**

"Is she gonna be okay?" Derek glances at Addison as the cab pulls into the circular drive leading to the Archfield's lobby.

"I'll look out for her."

"That's my concern," Derek mutters.

"Oh yeah, you're very concerned about her. That's like … your thing."

"Excuse me." Addison taps each of them on a shoulder. "You're both drunker than I am."

"I don't think anyone  _could_ be drunker than you are."

"You're all drunk," the cab driver interrupts, "but at least one of you drunk people needs to pay me."

**. . .**

"This is not my trailer," Derek announces as they stumble through the brightly lit lobby.

"Why are you here, again?"

"Because the driver said he wasn't going another foot with me in the car."

"He called you a walking liability," Addison beams. "Joke's on him though 'cause you can barely walk."

The three of them manage to support each other to the elevator bank.

"Just come sober up a little and you can call another cab. A  _nicer_ cab," Addison adds.

"You need water," Mark says. " _We_ need water."

"There's lots of water in my room," Addison smiles.

**. . .**

"This water is delicious," Addison announces, spilling half the bottle down her dress, then cursing. " _Fuck,_ that's cold." She pulls the fabric away from her skin. "Cold, cold, cold."

Mark eyes her as she starts fussing with the sash around her waist. "I thought you weren't going to strip."

"I'm not." She pauses. " _Mark._ "

"What?"

"Are you going to help me or not?"

He exhales a very put upon sigh, leaves Derek sitting in the easy chair and pulls on the sash of Addison's printed dress. He turns her around, confused. "Where's the zipper?"

"It's a wrap dress."

"Fine." He starts to pull it over her head and she shrieks.

"What now?"

"It's a  _wrap dress,_  Mark!"

"You keep saying that like it means something."

"You have to undo the thing!"

He pulls at the pieces of the dress, which apparently opens into – a sheet? A robe? God, women's clothes are complicated. No wonder he's always preferred them balled up at the foot of the bed. Now most of the dress is hanging off her but there's a part of the sash still looped through some of it and -

"What the hell is this thing, Addison, a kimono? I've never seen anything so ridiculously complicated."

"I told you, it's a  _wrap dress_ ," she informs him, "and you said before that you liked it."

"I did like it, when I was just looking at it, or looking at  _you_ in it, but that was before I realized it had more parts than a Mitsubishi."

"It's not that hard," she retorts. "Derek was always pretty good at undoing them-"

That's all he has to hear for the complicated sash-and-loop configuration to make perfect sense.

**. . .**

"You want a robe?" Mark figures it's only polite to ask, even if he crosses his fingers behind his back to hope she won't.

She shakes her head. "I'm airing out the dress."

Right now the dress is still fastened to her waist, but the top part is hanging loose. She's basically wearing two skirts. Well, that and a blue satin bra with lace panels that Mark is carefully looking past.

"Give her a robe, Mark," Derek says.

"She doesn't want one, Derek," Mark says.

"Fine, I'll just close my eyes."

"Derek – you've seen it already, so it doesn't count," Mark explains.

"Is that your policy, Mark? Explains a lot."

"Five-minute rule," Addison interjects firmly.

"Addie, that's for food you drop on the ground," Mark reminds her.

"Oh."

"Fine. If that's the rule, then we've already seen it and nothing has changed, so it's not – what the  _hell,_ Addison?" Derek stares open-mouthed as she turns her back, reaching into the minibar.

"What?" She peers over her shoulder, with some difficulty. "Oh … that."

On the back of Addison's left hip is a red inked circle – of the  _No Smoking_ variety – except instead of a picture of a cigarette in the middle with a slash through it, there are letters, or a word. He can't quite see it.

"You got a  _tattoo_?"

"What's the big deal?" She turns back around.

"What does it say?" Derek tries to walk to her other side, though it's difficult because the carpet in the hotel room keeps moving up and down and in circles.

"Never mind what it says," Addison responds primly.

"Then let me see."

Derek stumbles toward her back; Addison starts another shaky loop, and they circle each other tipsily.

"Okay, I can't watch this anymore." Mark shakes his head. "It's like watching the drunkest lion in the Serengeti go after a slightly less drunk antelope."

"Did you just call me an antelope?" Addison pauses in her tracks. "That is mean, Mark Sloan. Antelopes are fat. I think. Which one is an antelope, again?"

"They have antlers," Derek informs her.

"I don't know if that's right."

"Gazelle!" Addison shouts triumphantly, and promptly starts laughing.

"Gazelle?" Mark is confused.

"Those are the pretty ones."

"The pretty …"

"… ones that get eaten."

"You are  _so_ vain," Derek sighs.

Addison glares at him. "Really? When you have more hair products than I do?"

"You  _know_ I have a complex texture. Jacques Rodin said –"

" – your hair shaft has more variety than he's seen in twenty years of the most exclusive hair care. You know what? That's not a bragging point, Derek. It's weird."

"You're weird," he mutters.

"You're-"

"Let me see your tattoo."

"No!"

They start circling each other in wobbly, drunken loops again, stopping frequently to laugh or support themselves on random pieces of furniture.

Finally Mark intercedes.

"Okay, I can't watch this anymore, it's like a dirty version of a merry go-round." He catches Addison around the waist on her next circuit and pins her against him, which is very easy considering her coordination is at an all-time low.

"Mark!" She wriggles in his arms, which she needs to stop doing because it's having an effect she's going to notice.

She draws back. " _You're_ the dirty merry-go-round, Mark. Our whole … thing is a dirty merry-go-round."

He can't really argue with that.

"Derek, just get over here and look already," he says tiredly.

"Mark, let go!"

He doesn't, and Derek ambles over as casually as one can when putting a foot in front of the other is surprisingly challenging (for a former high school athlete, too). He has to lean over to see the word, because it's small, and Addison isn't exactly making it easy for him, wiggling in Mark's grasp.

He can make out a d. Is that a d? And an e …

Finally he sees it. The red circle with the line through it is slashing the word  _dreamy._

"Dreamy?" He reads it out loud.

"Shut up!" Addison sounds like she's either laughing or crying. "Mark, I'm going to kill you."

"You and what drunk army?" he teases her lazily, freeing one hand to trace her ribs, except that he forgot how ticklish she is; she shrieks and launches herself backwards, her surprisingly sharp elbow slamming into Derek's nose.

He curses loudly, stumbling back, and Mark releases Addison, who rushes to Derek's side. "Ooh, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to do that!"

"Is it broken?" She's fussing over his face.

"It could only be an improvement," Mark mutters.

"Mark," Addison barks. "Go get some ice, right now. Oh, and a coke, because all that's left in the minibar is rum."

"How many kinds of liquor do you plan on mixing tonight, Addison?"

"All the kinds, Mark." She's touching Derek's cheek with genuine concern, or at least trying to, but she's still drunk so she pokes him in the eye instead.

Mark lets the door close on Derek's anguished howl.

**. . .**

"Better?"

"Yes," Derek says grudgingly. Addison is holding the ice to his face. Mark, starting to get bored, and long ago cured of his slight … interest in the situation, is sulkily draining the tiny bottle of rum from the minibar.

He tosses the empty bottle into the wastebasket and misses.

"Hey. Clara Barton," he calls. "You don't actually have to sit like that to hold the ice on his face."

Addison glances back at Mark. "Like what?"

Mark indicates her position: she's straddling Derek's lap while his head lolls on the back on the easy chair; he looks almost like he's sleeping, except Mark can see one of his hands lazily tracing the tattoo on Addison's hip.

"Why do you care? Are you jealous?"

"Jealous that you broke Derek's nose, and now you're going to break his –"

" – his nose is  _fine,_ " Addison says firmly. "And so is everything else," she adds with a giggle.

Derek groans, muffled by the bag of ice. "I need to go home. One of you drive me home."

"No one's driving anywhere. We're all drunk," Mark reminds him.

"Oh, yeah."

"We can call you a cab," Mark offers.

Derek doesn't say anything.

"Do you want us to call you a cab?" Addison pokes him in the shoulder to make sure he's listening.

"No," he mutters.

**. . .**

"You two are  _best friends,_ " Addison says, "you're best friends again and that's good, it's a good thing."

"We're not friends again."

She suddenly starts giggling; she's still straddling Derek's lap, but her laughter makes her unsteady and she throws her head back, Mark catching her before she can fall.

"What's so funny that you need a concussion?"

"I just realized," she says breathlessly. "I seriously  _just_ realized that you two … have had sex … with each other."

"No, we haven't," Mark says hastily.

"No, you have, 'cause … you both had sex with me … and I'm me … so that means you also had sex with each other."

"You still consulting on that Sex Ed Curriculum Change committee, Addie? Because you seem to be a little confused."

"Noooo." She bats Mark's hand away. "It's like … the transitive property. Don't you remember logic?"

"At this point … no, not really."

"Anyway. I'm just saying." She giggles again. "I'm saying I win."

"You win what?"

"The thing."

"What thing? What's your point, Addison?" Derek sounds muffled again.

"Just that if you've  _already done something_ then it doesn't count if you  _do it again._ "

"Is that your policy? It explains so much," Derek says darkly. "Maybe you should have disclosed it a little earlier, though?"

"Hey." Mark cuffs his shoulder. "Leave her alone."

"She's sitting on top of me!"

"I mean, be nice. You're divorced."

"That makes no sense. Neither of you makes any sense. You know what? You might be perfect for each other."

Mark nods. "That's what I've said all along."

**. . .**

"Derek, remember when you liked me?"

Addison's voice is muffled by Derek's hair; Mark thought she might be asleep, but apparently she's just too drunk or tired to hold her head up.

"Vaguely," he responds, eyeing Mark as if he's not sure if the other man is going to hit him again.

"You  _did_ used to like me. A lot."

"Okay fine, I used to like you. What's your point?"

"My point is, you used to like me." And she draws back, giggling. "Don't you understand  _anything_?"

"Apparently not." Derek looks helplessly at Mark.

"Hey, Ad … how about some water?"

"Yes, please." She stands up off Derek's lap with Mark's help, and her half-on wrap dress that's been dangling around her waist slides down to the ground. She drops to her haunches to pick it up, smooth it out, and then seek out a hanger so it won't wrinkle. For anyone else this might be a sign she's not as drunk as she seemed, but Mark knows Addison could be in a coma and still stop to hang up her clothes properly. The woman is nothing if not consistent.

Both men watch her hang the dress in the closet.

Mark glances at Derek now that Addison isn't blocking him anymore. "Nice," he says, only half-sarcastically, and is pleased to see his old friend blush brilliantly.

**. . .**

"Why am I the only one who's naked?"

"You're not naked," Mark says, reaching out to touch the blue satin at her hip.

"Neither are you, and you're more not naked than I am."

"So put some clothes on," Derek mutters.

"Do you want me to put some clothes on?" She props a hand on her hip.

Neither of them answers.

"I thought so." She sounds pleased with herself.

Derek groans.

"Now what?"

"My nose hurts, if you must know," and he sounds nasal, so the word is pronounced more like  _dose_  than nose. In fact, the whole sentence sounds more like,  _by dose hurts, if you bust doe._

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing is  _fuddy_ ," Mark says, and he and Addison both laugh.

"I'm injured," Derek snaps. "How about a little sympathy? You know, you could – okay, that's not exactly what I had in mind," he says quickly to Addison, who is suddenly on her knees in front of him, fumbling with leather and metal.

"Well … does your nose still hurt?" A few minutes pass before Addison asks the question, her voice coming from somewhere significantly south of his injured proboscis.

"Yes," he says quickly. "You should probably keep going."

She does.

**. . .**

"I want to be very clear, I'm not taking part in this," Derek says firmly, glaring at the pile of fabric building up on the carpet.

"Taking part in what?" Addison blinks innocently as Mark unhooks her bra.

"Exactly," Derek confirms. "I just need to sleep it off before I – ugh," he makes a disgusted face, "you're giving me flashbacks. I had a front row seat in New York, remember?"

"So get out of the audience, and get on the stage." Mark turns his head to grin at him and Addison moves her hand off her mouth, where she's been muffling the kind of noises the other hotel guests will hopefully just think is pay-per-view to agree vociferously.

"There's no room."

"There's  _always_ room for one more," Addison giggles. "Especially if it's you."

"Is that disturbing, or sweet?" Derek looks at Mark.

Mark considers it. "Both," he says, and Addison beams at the two of them before patting the white sheet next to her.

**. . .**

"I'm not doing anything," Derek says.

"Clearly," Mark says.

Addison doesn't say anything at all.

"I just want to see if the tattoo part feels different," Derek insists. "That's all."

"You've never slept with a girl with a tattoo," Mark muses. "God, I forget how innocent you are. Probably because you're such a dick."

"Hey." Addison pushes them both away to sit up and swats Mark. "We're all  _friends,_ remember?"

"Oh. Right." Mark pauses. "Meredith seems like she would have a tattoo."

"She doesn't. And I think she hates me, anyway."

"She should," Addison says firmly, "because-"

But whatever the reason is gets drowned out when Mark flips her over and Derek finds out if the tattoo part  _feels different._

**. . .**

"Just to be clear,  _this_ is not a thing." Derek is gesturing toward Mark and then back toward himself.

"Okay," Addison frowns, trying to make sure she understands.

"It's all about you, that's what he means," Mark adds.

Oh. Well, she's not going to complain about that.

As far as she can tell, there are two Dereks and two Marks, so she's technically having a  _fivesome_ , which she hasn't done since … well, that's a story for another day. And she has four long legs instead of two which is fine because they're her best feature. And one of each of the Dereks and Marks are making their way up her four legs, warm lips and scratchy stubble – Mark's scratchier than Derek's, but Derek's lips are softer. Derek stops occasionally to moan in pain when his injured nose hits her flesh but hey, nobody's perfect.

"You four are the  _best,_ " she sighs happily.

**. . .**

"I'm glad you shelled out for the vibrating bed, Addison," Derek says seriously; she's gripping him in a way that says she hasn't forgotten exactly where all his most sensitive spots are – not counting his broken nose, which is newly sensitive.

"This isn't a vibrating bed," Addison says, puzzled, hissing when Mark's lips start making their way across her collarbones again.

"Then why is it moving so much – " he curses. "Addie, take it down a notch or I'm going to –"

"So?" She bats her eyes at him, or tries, because batting your eyes is way, way harder than she remembered. "Did you have other plans for it?"

"Kind of," he admits.

"Derek Shepherd, incurable optimist." She shakes her head.

**. . .**

"Optimism has its benefits," Derek says smugly into her neck, or at least she assumes it's smug; his voice is muffled but he  _is_ Derek, so…

"Shut up," she tells him, except her own voice is drowned out by Mark's lips, he keeps tugging her jaw toward him and kissing her, which would be nice – even  _really_ nice, except her head is not exactly steady. It's moving jerkily back and forth in time with Derek and she's afraid she's going to break Mark's nose, too.

"Careful," she murmurs.

Mark seems to get her meaning. "I'll go somewhere less dangerous," he assures her, except his hand skims down to a site of major activity instead.

 _God_ , he's good at this.

**. . .**

"I hope the walls are thick," Derek mutters.

"They'd better be, at these prices," Mark mutters back.

They glance at each other, and then switch places.

"Is this about my tattoo again? You've already seen it, Mark, and –  _oh,_ " she says when Mark has replaced Derek and Derek is pulling her up against him and she kisses him, maybe out of habit.

He groans in pain.

"I'm sorry about your nose," she says again. "I really am. You know, I always liked it, even with the bump, and-"

"You can stop talking now," he informs her, and kisses her back, one hand shielding his nose and the other tangling in her hair.

**. . .**

"I always thought I'd get better results with four hands," Derek observes.

Addison is going to tell him to shut up as soon as she remembers how to use her mouth.

Luckily, Derek hasn't forgotten to use his, and if his nose hurts, she can't hear him complaining.

**. . .**

"My turn," Mark says importantly, shoving Derek. "You always sucked at sharing."

"Really? Me? I think you have us mixed up."

"How is that possible? We're nothing alike."

Addison clears her throat.

"Yes?"

"Oh, nothing," she says airily. "Just if you're not going to get back to it I'll finish my-"

**. . .**

"See, you two still get along when it's important," Addison says fondly, one hand on each of their heads.

They both look pretty pleased with themselves, even if their features are a little blurry. It's so nice to see them cooperating. They're best friends, and they should get along.

Boys are  _so_ funny, though, they take all the credit for themselves. They're so proud of themselves just because they –

" _Really_?" She looks down at Mark. "After all those drinks?"

He shrugs. "It's a gift."

"It's a curse," Derek mutters.

"Shut up and make yourself useful," Mark orders.

He does.

**. . .**

"I'm not getting in there with the two of you," Derek says firmly.

Addison pats his arm reassuringly. "Honey, it's a  _very_ big shower."

"That's not my concern. We don't need to be all soapy – and slippery – and – "

"Why not?"

"Because I'm sobering up, if you must know."

"So?"

"So if anything happens … "

He doesn't finish his sentence.

Anything  _does_ happen, at least to Addison.

Twice.

**. . .**

"I can't believe you live in a hotel room." Derek shakes his head, which is resting on his folded hands as he stares at the ceiling.

"I can't believe you live in a trailer," Addison reminds him, kicking one of her long legs outside the sheets.

"I can't believe you live in Seattle," Derek sighs, pushing wet fragrant strands of Addison's hair out of his face.

"I can't believe  _you_ live in Seattle," Addison counters as Mark's hand comes to rest on her bare thigh.

"I can't believe neither of you will shut up," Mark says grumpily from Addison's other side.

"I can't believe you slept with Mark," Derek says, eyeing his side of the bed with distaste.

"I can't believe  _you_ slept with Mark," Addison retorts with a grin.

"Okay, okay, you win," Derek says hastily.

" _Finally_ ," Addison says happily, "That's all I wanted. I won, officially, let's seal the deal." She holds a hand out toward each man on either side of her. "Shake on it?"

They don't.

But they do seal the deal.


End file.
